Assume Position, Soldier
by walkamongstthestars
Summary: Basically John is a tease until he isn't. Oneshot.


John walked into Sherlock's room with a proud smile plastered on his face, and loomed over Sherlock's bent over frame. Sherlock was rummaging through his drawers and he merely waved his hand in acknowledgement.

"Oh, John, have you seen my purple shirt? It should be in the wardrobe but I can't find it-" Sherlock looked up upon hearing John's excuse-me throat clearing. The sight in front of him caused a look of confusion and then desire to cross his face.

John was not only wearing Sherlock's purple shirt - which, by the way, was too tight on his wider, though still finely toned from war, frame, and could only actually be buttoned at the very bottom - but also his old army beret and cargo trousers.

"Well?" John said, raising his eyebrows, still wearing a satisfied look on his face.

Sherlock blinked and stood.

"You're... you're wearing my shirt."

John nodded and furrowed his brow slightly.

"Mm... good deduction, that. Yes." Sherlock almost rolled his eyes at the sass, but was slightly too captivated by it all.

"It doesn't fit," Sherlock said, finally gathering himself enough to raise one eyebrow, dragging his gaze not-so-subtly down John's body.

"No, well, you have always been a skinny git." John looked up at him, his hands clasped behind his back, proper military form assumed.

"So, that's your beret." Sherlock said it as a statement rather than a question. John still felt the need to rub in Sherlock's slight state of shock.

"Yes, yes, that's also correct. I shed blood, sweat, and tears, and all I get is this stupid hat." John wasn't usually one to joke about the war, but he was in a particularly good mood that day.

Sherlock was gripping the edge of his dresser a bit tightly, almost _leaning_ on it. John held back a smirk.

Sherlock seemed to be at a loss for any groundbreaking proclamations at the moment.

"That's my shirt."

John chuckled.

"With the number of times I've taken it off of you and thrown it onto the floor of _my_ bedroom, one might think it actually belonged to me."

"You took my shirt."

John was getting a little exasperated at Sherlock's reaction. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he thought Sherlock would've _done_ something by now.

"Yes, I did. I would've worn my own purple shirt but- well..." he unclasped his hands and held his arms out a bit, turning his wrists out, allowing the material to shift around his torso. Sherlock made no effort to hide his gaze on John's pectoral muscles.

"I thought, 'if it looks so damned good on him, perhaps it'll do something for me'. So I procured it while you were in the shower. I haven't decided whether I like it or not. I mean, what with the gap and all..." his voice trailed off slightly as he picked at the lapels of the shirt with his fingers, looking down nonchalantly. Before he knew what was happening, Sherlock had grabbed him by the arms and pulled him into a searing kiss.

John inhaled sharply and relaxed a bit, but he had somewhat different plans. He recoiled and pulled away from Sherlock's grasp, leaving the man reaching out toward him. John stood up stock straight, crossing his arms.

"Oi, you don't simply _kiss_ a Captain. At attention, Private." He nodded, looking Sherlock up and down.

Sherlock gulped and stared at him for a moment, and then a small smile crept across his lips.

"Yes, _sir_." Sherlock mimicked John's stance and brought his hand up to salute John. John looked off to the side briefly and pursed his lips.

"You like what you see, then, Private?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Sherlock said with a bit more enthusiasm. He kept his hands at his sides, looking straight ahead. He'd amuse John with this. How could he not indulge him, when he was wearing _that_?

"Anything in particular, Private?"

"Mm, _everything_, sir."

"Is that so?" John took a step closer, testing Sherlock's will power, seeing if Sherlock would look down at John.

"Sir, yes, sir. How did you know I would appreciate this, sir?" Sherlock's voice had acquired a slightly more seductive tone. John bit back the urge to kiss that tone out of his voice.

"Don't think I didn't notice. Baskerville. You gave me that _look_ when I pulled rank."

Sherlock bit his lip slightly.

"What _look_ would that be, sir?"

"Oh, I don't know, the one that says you'd like to do unspeakable things to me, Private. Is that what you want? Would you like to challenge your Captain, Holmes?"

Sherlock broke character to smirk.

"With respect, sir, I could take you any day."

John drew his eyebrows up again and licked his lips, dragging his tongue along the inside of his cheek and looking Sherlock up and down. He took a few steps back and held his arms at his sides.

"You think you can, then? Alright. Assume position, Private. Show me what you've got."

Sherlock finally looked down at John, meeting his gaze. His left hand drifted to the cuff of his right, his eyes still locked on to John while his nimble fingers unbuttoned the white shirt he had put on in the absence of the purple one. He began rolling up his sleeves.

"It would be," Sherlock said with extra emphasis as he pushed his sleeves back and sniffed in some air, "my great _honor_, sir, to take you on." He loosened his arms out, quirked his head a bit at John, and then added low and with a mocking tone, "_beefcake_".

John gave Sherlock a look of disbelief. He had similarly rolled up the cuffs of Sherlock's shirt and was shifting his bad shoulder slightly.

"Beefcake, Private? You think I'm a beefcake?"

Sherlock gave him an incredulous look.

"Pfft. With _those_ pectoral and bicep muscles?" He restored his sarcastic tone and added, "you're just begging to be fought. People want to prove themselves, and along comes Captain John Watson. The army doctor who has bad days. In the end, you'd make all the little soldier boys quiver in their boots." His eyes took on a dark haze as he stared John down, moving forward and making to seize John by the wrist.

John laughed and quickly countered Sherlock's move, pulling him forward once Sherlock had a grasp on his wrist and holding him at the nape of his neck to push him to the ground. He suspected, however, that Sherlock wasn't giving up much of a fight.

As he pinned Sherlock down, pulling his arm around to his back and holding it there, he leaned over to Sherlock's ear and spoke with a gruff voice.

"So what does that make you?"

Sherlock grunted, half of his face on the floor, and he tried to look back at John.

"A fruitcake."

There was a moment of silence and John stared down at Sherlock with a blank look, before they both broke out into laughter.

John climbed off of Sherlock and helped him up, brushing the sides of his shirt down. He looked up into Sherlock's eyes and smiled, shaking his head.

"I have a slight feeling that term applies to both of us."

Sherlock chuckled, the rumble of his laugh sending shivers down John's spine.

"John Three-Continents Watson, I think not."

"Oh?"

"Mm, you dip your hand into both of the candy bowls. I merely take it up the arse."

John rubbed his brow and laughed, shaking a finger at Sherock.

"You better be careful, Private. The married ones next door might hear."

"Oh, dear me, whatever shall we do? Shall I shout 'Jane' out during sex, instead?"

John shoved Sherlock, tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes as he laughed.

"Ooh, there's all sorts round here," he said, mimicking Mrs. Hudson's tone.

"Yes, well, there's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two."

"Yeah, well, last I bloody well checked, we only use mine since _someone_ refuses to clean up his bed."

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes.

"There's no point if I'm not _sleeping_ in it, John. Am I really supposed to change the sheets _every_ time?"

"Sherlock, you broke a lamp and it shattered onto the pillow, and just kept going whilst your back got scraped up."

"We were trying out that new position, I didn't want to mess it up."

John glared at him.

"Oh, you are ridiculous. Why do I put up with you?" He smiled slightly.

"I thought I made that rather clear earlier. My arse."

_That's it_, John thought. He shoved Sherlock onto the - actually _clean_ for once - bed, settling down on his lap to grasp his head in his hands and press desperate kisses to his lips. Sherlock's hands went to work on the last few buttons capable of closing on the purple shirt and let his hands roam around John's chest. John carded his hand through Sherlock's hair and pulled his head back, sucking in air and smirking.

"For a moment, there, I thought you were going to cite your incredible charm, but _clearly_," his voice trailed off and he raised an eyebrow at Sherlock knowingly. Sherlock pinched his nipple and sneered at him, latching on to his throat and biting. John grunted.

"What'll it be, Private? Top or bottom?

Sherlock raised his lips to John's ear.

"Oh, Captain, it would be a great honor for you to take _me_, sir. I think I've been rather ill-disciplined of late, have I not?"

John flushed a bit at Sherlock's velvety voice and swallowed.

"You did leave another bloody head in the fridge," John gasped out.

Sherlock chuckled and nipped at John's earlobe.

"Well, where else am I supposed to put it?"

"Mm, time to shut up, you handsome bastard," John murmured, pushing Sherlock back against the bed.

Sherlock let out a gasp and his hands flew to John's hips, anchoring him down against his pelvis.

"As you wish, _sir_," Sherlock said with extra emphasis, grinding his hips up into John's. John cleared his throat and leaned down, kissing a trail from Sherlock's clavicle to his forehead.

"You're not wearing your proper uniform, Private." John clutched at Sherlock's shirt and his fingers began to undo the buttons.

"And what uniform, _uh_ -" he let out a moan as John's other hand trailed down to cup his erection in his trousers. "What uniform would that be?" he asked, his voice breaking.

John replicated Sherlock's earlier position with his lips by Sherlock's ear. "_Nothing_" he whispered roughly, his voice laced with lust. Sherlock breathed in deeply and bit his lip, bringing one hand around to grab a handful of John's arse. In the next few moments there was a struggle between hands and limbs as Sherlock removed the purple shirt from John and thoroughly examined his sculpted body. John was a bit more unceremonious as he yanked Sherlock's shirt off and threw it to the ground, throwing him back on the bed and hitching up his hips to pull down Sherlock's trousers. Soon all that was left was the beret. John moved to take it off, but Sherlock caught him by the wrist.

"You want me to leave it on?"

"I find it..." Sherlock seemed to be searching for the appropriate word. "_Pleasing_."

John's lips curled up and he pinned Sherlock's arms up over his head.

He dipped forward until his lips were mere atoms away from Sherlock's and breathed out, "You find it... _arousing_?" He rutted against Sherlock, their erections glancing by each other, eliciting a moan from Sherlock.

"Mmf- yes, it's- it's-" Sherlock bit his lip as John managed to line up his aim perfectly and rubbed against the underside of Sherlock's cock.

"Military kink? That's settled, then." John tilted his head and bit down on Sherlock's neck, causing the taller man to gurgle slightly.

"Allow me to discipline you, then, Private," John said, before muffling any replies Sherlock had with his mouth. Their tongues slid together hotly, and John reached around blindly for the handle to the nightstand drawer. As their lips remained mashed together, John found the bottle of lube and broke away momentarily to slick up his fingers, not waiting for any word from Sherlock before he pushed a finger into him.

"Oh, _God_," Sherlock groaned out, shifting his hips toward John's hand.

"Mm, enjoying ourselves, are we?" John's voice was laced with a teasing tone.

"I- _oh_," whatever Sherlock was going to say was cut off by John suddenly inserting two more fingers in.

"There we go," John said, soothingly, now. He twisted his fingers around and brushed past Sherlock's prostate, causing the detective's eyes to fly open as his jaw went slacken. "Yes, alright," John continued, pulling his fingers out and gripping Sherlock by the hips. "I think it's time you get your punishment." He hitched Sherlock's hips up and pushed his knee back, then slicked himself up.

"What- _ung_ - punishment will I be getting?" Sherlock managed with a rattling breath.

"Oh, this one's reserved for our worst prisoners," he positioned himself at Sherlock's hole, just barely allowing the tip of his cock to brush against it. "You won't be walking-" he interrupted himself by shoving up into Sherlock, drawing a sharp gasp from him. "-for _days_," he punctuated the last word with a sharp thrust, sherlock's leg wrapped around his back as he let himself be fucked into the mattress.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and felt John's lips explore his clavicle as John thrusted cleanly and steadily into him. He willed himself to open his eyes to watch the army man and pull him closer with his arms, the beret tickling his nose and sending a jolt up his spine. It was _John_ with _that_ hat, previously having worn _that_ shirt, now pounding into him with _that_ fervor, the fervor of his doctor. His blogger. His lover. John was many things to him, but for now, he was his Captain, and he could do as he pleased to the consulting detective.

"_Fuck_, yes," Sherlock grunted out as John changed his angle to hit his prostate spot on each time. He leaned up a bit to capture John's mouth, nibbling on his lips and dragging his tongue across the bottom.

John detached slightly and distracted him by bringing one hand down from his grip on the sheet by Sherlock's shoulder, and wrapping it around Sherlock's length. Sherlock swore again and clamped his mouth shut.

"Uh-uh." John shook his had. "_I'm_ the lip nibbler, remember? Hey, open that mouth of yours, I want to hear you as I order you." John pulled up on Sherlock's cock and bit down on his lower lip before the other man could protest, drawing out a cry. He felt Sherlock's groan in his chest, though only a puff of air escaped his nose as he planted his feet and tried to thrust up against John.

"Oi, soldier, at ease," John said gruffly, pushing back even harder and letting his hand fall down to Sherlock's balls to fondle them, drawing out a whole other kind of sound from Sherlock.

"Christ," Sherlock said through gritted teeth, finally giving up and letting his groans fill the room. "Fuck, _harder_," he moaned out desperately as John increased the intensity of his pace and force.

"Shit, ohh," was all that escaped John's lips as he felt heat building up deep inside and tightness form in his balls. They weren't going to last much longer. At least John wasn't, not with all the delicious sounds Sherlock was making.

"_God_, yes, close," Sherlock gasped and gripped John's hips tightly, probably leaving bruishes. John pushed Sherlock's knee back again and lifted his lower body up more to thrust more forcefully, bringing his cock out almost all the way with each shove. He pulled a few more times on Sherlock's cock, and then all it took was one, two, three more thrusts, and Sherlock shouted.

"Oh, _John_!" He came violently on his stomache, his orgasm washing over him, and he had to force himself to open his eyes just the slightest bit as John leaned forward and muffled the rest of his shouting with slick lips. Before Sherlock had even ridden out the aftershocks, he felt John's release, his own muscles still clamping down on John's cock.

"Ohmfffuck" John moaned against Sherlock's lips as he came, his face contorted in response to how nearly painfully pleasurable the pulse of his orgasm was.

He collapsed against Sherlock, the two of them sticky and sweaty, his breath beginning to steady.

Sherlock huffed for a few moments before closing his eyes and settling his hand on John's back, sighing. He heard John chuckling softly.

"Mm?" Sherlock mumbled out.

"You didn't shout Jane."

Sherlock opened an eye lazily and looked at John, who was smiling softly, heavy lidded eyes gazing up at him.

"Well," Sherlock murmured, "when the person whose name you're shouting happens to have his cock in your arse, it's a bit hard to imagine him being a girl." His voice was gravelly and quiet, his breathing still somewhat ragged. He opened both eyes now and looked at John, who stared back at him for a moment, and shook his head as they both giggled. John dragged himself up to rest against Sherlock's shoulder, tracing lazy lines with his finger through his own come on Sherlock's stomache. Sherlock smirked, closing his eyes again and feeling his body's relaxation.

"Good punishment?" John mumbled.

"Exceptional." Sherlock rumbled, turning slightly to press a kiss to John's forehead before they both drifted off. Sherlock's last thought before sleep overtook him was that he really ought to put more heads in the fridge.


End file.
